


The Times That Try Men's Souls

by Elfbert



Category: Rawhide (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Bosscout, M/M, PWP, Ramrodblocked, These guys just need some time alone, piss off Rowdy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 17:19:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13035816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfbert/pseuds/Elfbert
Summary: Five times that Gil Favor and Pete Nolan TRIED to get some time alone. And...one time they did.





	1. Liquor and Lickability

It was difficult enough to make it through the bath house without reaching out, touching.

Smooth skin, pink from the hot water and being scrubbed with soap, within arm’s reach. So close.

It took all his control not to press himself against the naked body, water running down strong thighs, as they stood, drying themselves off, clean for the first time in weeks.

It was almost impossible not to give in to temptation, as their eyes met, clothes pulled back on roughly, with the knowledge they’d be removed again as soon as possible.

 

Pete nearly trod on Gil’s heels as they made their way back to the saloon, he was so eager, wanted to be in their room - in privacy - finally.

Gil climbing the stairs in front of him two at a time.

The only thought in Pete’s mind was what he was going to do with the tight ass that was so perfectly displayed as denim pulled taught over muscle.

As soon as they were in the room Pete shoved Gil backward against the door, smiling as Gil made no effort to resist. He threw his own hat onto the dressing table and leant in for a kiss.

“You…know…” he began working on the buttons on Gil’s shirt. “How long I been waiting for this?”

Gil’s strong hands grabbed his ass, their bodies fitting together.

The kiss felt like it lasted forever. No need to worry, no prying eyes, no one but them. Soft lips, newly shaved faces, tongues exploring.

Pete felt his shirt being tugged free of his pants, rough fingers tracing their way up his sides, holding him tight, skin-on-skin.

A loud knock on the door made them both jump. The look that passed between them said more than words ever could.

“Boss?” a voice called from the other side of the door.

Pete banged his forehead into Gil’s collarbone. “Why?” he murmured. “How does…he know?”

“Shh,” Gil barely breathed the sound. “He might go.”

The handle of the door dropped, and the shove that opened it pushed Gil firmly into Pete’s arms.

Pete cursed saloons, cursed ramrods, cursed people who didn’t put locks on doors, and cursed his own rotten luck.

They scrambled apart, as Rowdy stuck his head around the door. “Oh hey, Boss, Pete. Figured you’d want to celebrate!” He held up a bottle.

Pete wanted to howl at the injustice.

 

If anyone noticed that next time Pete and Gil went into town, Rowdy was left in charge of the herd, they didn’t say anything.


	2. Scouting for Boys

Getting away from the herd wasn’t easy. But sometimes, when the going was good, when Gil didn’t have too much on his mind - that was when Pete could try. A quick word, a hint of something ‘interesting’, a smile, a wink. And sometimes, sometimes…it worked.

Like now. They’d galloped away, leaving the three thousand head of cattle plodding ever onward, along with the men tending them.

They’d smiled as the rode, both of them knowing exactly what was in store.

The grass by the stream was lush and green, soft to lie on, and their horses were happy to graze.

The herd wouldn’t catch up with them for hours.

Pete had grabbed Gil, the moment they were out of their saddles, and hugged him, dragging them both to the ground. They’d laughed, rolling over, the scent of the grass crushed beneath them just adding to feel of freedom. Hats fell off, rolling aside, hair falling loosely over their foreheads.

Somehow Pete had ended up on top of Gil, kissing him lazily, taking his time. Their legs were tangled together, hands sliding over muscles, shirts tugged free.

Pete shifted, needing to release some of the pressure on his groin, and Gil took the opportunity to flip him onto his back, holding him down, diving into kiss his neck.

Pete couldn’t help but squirm and laugh as Gil’s breath and tongue tickled over his skin.

Then he groaned, deep in his throat, as Gil’s large hand cupped his groin and squeezed gently.

He found himself being kissed again, and closed his eyes, giving in to the sensations. The warmth of the sun. The gentle drone of bees visiting the meadow flowers nearby. The tug of his gun belt being undone.

He lifted his hips, arching into the touch. Feeling Gil’s lips dragging over his cheek, back down to his neck, distracting him from his pants being pulled open too.

As Gil moved downward Pete could guess what was in store, and a smile spread across his lips.

Nice girls, he’d been told, didn’t ‘do that’. Even some of the less nice girls he’d met had considered it ‘dirty’.

Gil Favor, however, seemed to have no problem with sucking dick, and for that, Pete was eternally grateful.

Just as the warm breath ghosted across his straining cock there was a groan though - and one that sounded distinctly pained.

Then Gil’s forehead landed on his hip, hard enough to make him yelp a little.

“What?” He looked down.

Gil lifted his head and gestured down the trail with a tilt of his chin.

A figure was heading straight for them. A familiar figure.

Pete almost whimpered.

“Why…how…”

“I swear, that boy…”

 

By the time Rowdy reached them they were both fully dressed, pretending to fill their already-full canteens from the clear waters of the stream.

“Hey, thought I’d come an’ see if you found a bed ground yet?” Rowdy smiled widely at them.

Pete ground his teeth together and didn’t answer.

 

If the rest of the crew realised that the next time Gil and Pete went scouting together, Rowdy was sent on an errand in the opposite direction, they didn’t mention it.


	3. Absent Friends

The sun was warm. Most of the crew were in the nearby town. The cows were content.

Wishbone was somewhere around, doing some washing. They’d occasionally hear a splash or a shouted order to Mushy.

Other than that it was peaceful, and Gil floated on his back in the slowly flowing river, eyes closed, happy to let the cool water wash away the dirt, sweat and worries the cattle drive brought him.

It didn’t last. It never did.

One second he was still, except for gentle movement of his hands, working against the sluggish current of the wide river.

The next he had been grabbed around his waist and dragged under the surface in an explosion of splashing water.

Strong arms kept him under the surface for a second, before he was finally allowed to get his feet back under him and stand, toes sinking into the silky mud on the river bed.

When he surfaced he saw Pete was laughing, pushing his hand through his curly hair.

Gil couldn’t help but grin at him.

“You know, just ‘cause you’re too short to reach the bottom, there ain’t no need to drown me,” Gil smiled, reaching out and grabbing Pete by the waist.

He glanced around, but they were away from Wishbone and Mushy, plenty of trees and rocks in between them and the camp.

Still, it was best to be a little discreet.

He kissed Pete hard, reaching down to grab the backs of Pete’s thighs. He encouraged the muscular legs to wrap around him. Pete’s arms linked behind his neck, clinging to him, their cocks pressed together under the water.

Very suddenly he dropped below the waterline, continuing the kiss with water and bubbles mingling with lips and tongues, hands wandering over naked skin.

He felt Pete smiling, felt the laughter shaking through his belly, and they finally surfaced, gasping for air as their lips parted, water streaming from their hair.

“Looked like you was all set to fall asleep right here,” Pete said. “Know you ain’t one to sleep on the job.”

“I ain’t on the job,” Gil answered. “For once.”

“Course you are,” Pete dragged his fingers down Gil’s chest. “You’re always working.”

Gil slid his hands up to hold Pete’s head, fingers threading through the curls, thumbs stroking over his jaw.

“Not now,” he answered, kissing Pete again, shifting close, wet skin sliding as their bodies fitted together.

Pete’s hands slid down, resting on his hips, holding them together. The cold water and hot flesh was a delicious mix as Gil deepened the kiss, closing his eyes.

Pete’s hands urged him to move a little, rocking his hips.

He slid one hand down Pete’s chest, reaching between them, palm sliding over Pete’s cock, fingers…

“Mister Favor, Sir!”

They leapt apart at Mushy’s voice.

Gil looked up to the blue sky. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, leant forward and shoved his face into the water, letting out a groan of frustration and bubbles, before standing back up, smacking his palm into the surface of the water forcefully.

“Yeah, Mushy, over here,” he called back, resigned.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at Pete.

“Oh, Mister Favor, Sir, Mister Wishbone says can you come back to camp? Mister Rowdy’s been arrested in town an’ they say they’ll throw the others in jail too, if you don’t go an’ sort out paying for some damages or somethin’.”

He glanced at Pete, who gave a small resigned smile and a shrug.

“I’ll be right there, Mushy,” Gil called out, sighing. “I’ll be right there.”

 

If anyone noticed that the Boss was even grumpier than usual as he paid the saloon keeper for the damaged furniture, or that he somehow assigned the entire crew - apart from Pete - to ride drag for a week, they didn’t dare comment.


	4. Things That Go Bump in the Night

The camp was quiet. The night dark. A single oil lamp hung on the chuck wagon, to guide the nighthawks in.

It was warm, with the hint of a coming storm, as the clouds blotted out the sliver of moon.

Gil lay on his back, hands clasped loosely over his stomach. Around him were the soft snores of men. Further away the odd cow would call softly in the night.

His life never seemed to contain much peace and quiet. Sometimes it made him nervous. Sometimes he just appreciated it.

A noise to his left made his eyes flick in that direction, wide in the inky darkness.

There was another scuffling sound, and something touched his side. He gave a small smile.

Fingers stroked down as far as his belt, then followed the line of leather around his hips.

There was another sound of movement, whisper quiet, and the hand found the buttons of his shirt, moving up them until they found where he’d opened it at his chest, small respite in the warmth.

His smile widened as fingertips traced through the hair, up to the stubble on his jaw, over the bump of his chin and then the gentlest of tickling touches over his lips.

He darted his tongue out, tracing the pads. Lifting his head to catch and gently suck the fingers.

A gentle weight landed on his thigh, holding him down, more fingers traced over and around the growing bulge in his jeans. teasing, exploring, fingernails scraping over rough fabric, sending shivers of vibration into his sensitive flesh.

He couldn’t help but give a silent laugh, belly shaking as he grinned around the fingers still in his mouth.

Sometimes he appreciated Pete’s skills of stealth and observation for more than scouting the herd’s route.

The buttons on his fly were released one at a time, each slide through fabric releasing a little of the pressure on his cock.

More weight pressed down on his hip, and the fingers left his mouth. They pulled up his shirt, tracing over his belly.

He couldn’t help but let out a little groan as warm breath and wet lips touched his erection where it lay heavy on his stomach.

The hand on his belly moved away, and there was a slight scrape by his ear. Then the cool supple softness of leather touched his cheek. Distinctive scent surrounding him as the thick belt was pushed into his mouth, settling between his teeth.

“Shhh,” came the almost inaudible command, a gush of warm breath flooding over his groin.

He let his own hand trail down, fingers finding Pete’s curly hair, threading through it. His teeth digging into the leather as Pete’s tongue licked up the underside of his dick. His groan muffled by the sturdy gun belt.

There was a noise to his right - close. Too close.

He tensed, and felt Pete’s head jerk up, obviously also staring into the gloom.

Then the toe of a boot caught him in the ribs. There was a distinctive yelp of surprise from the owner of the boot as they stumbled, and the foot landed squarely on Gil’s chest.

His teeth clamped into the leather as he grunted in pain.

“What the…Christ!” Rowdy yelped, as he tripped over in a heap.

One of Gil’s hands went to his bruised chest, the other scrabbled to shove his rapidly softening dick back in his jeans.

He felt Rowdy being dragged away.

“Easy there,” Pete was saying. “What’re you doin’, going blundering round in the dark like that, waking folk up?”

“Sorry - sorry, Boss,” Rowdy stuttered. “It’s just…dark, an’…”

“’S fine. Just…get back to sleep before you wake up the whole damn camp,” Gil wheezed, sitting up.

“I was…going to…er…you know…” Rowdy said. “In the bushes…”

“Then do that!” Gil snapped.

Rowdy moved off into the darkness, and a hand found Gil’s hair, giving it a ruffle.

He flopped back onto his bedroll, one hand on his tender ribs.

 

And if anyone noticed, the next day, that Pete’s gun belt had a set of teeth marks in it, they didn’t make a remark.


	5. A Rustling in the Darkness

Pete hunched down into his coat. Then tucked his left hand into his pocket, wiggling his fingers to try to get some warmth back into them.

He glanced across to where Gil was also riding with one hand in his pocket, cheroot between his lips, looking down at the ground.

They’d been on the track of a bunch of strays for an hour now, including a few missed turns, where the ground was too hard to see the tracks.

Pete swung his horse around and headed for Gil.

“Gettin’ late,” he said, by way of greeting. “We’ll lose the light, soon.”

Gil looked across at him, wearing his usual slightly glum expression.

“Someone’s gotta be drivin’ them, t’get this far,” he said, around the cheroot.

Pete gave a nod. “Seems likely. Indians, maybe.”

Gil grunted, in acknowledgement or agreement, it didn’t really matter to Pete.

“Maybe it ain’t worth the time. Two of us ain’t gonna get them back, if it was Indians,” he pushed.

Gil sighed. “Yeah, guess so.”

“I know it ain’t fair,” Pete said, stopping his horse next to Gil’s, surveying the land in front of them. The long shadows could have been hiding a hundred cows, for all he knew. “But they’re just beeves, ain’t worth gettin’ in a fight over five head of cattle.”

There was no answer, but Gil turned his horse back the way they’d come.

Pete took a moment to look over the land one last time, hoping the beeves would show themselves. But there was nothing, so he turned and followed Gil.

They rode side-by-side, Pete glancing across at Gil every now and again.

“Gettin’ dark,” he finally said. “We could, you know, make camp, if you wanted.”

There was no answer, and they plodded on. Pete felt a little disappointed, but didn’t say anything.

The drive had been hard, missing cattle was just yet another thing to add to Gil’s worries. He’d hoped he could help relieve a little of that stress, just the two of them, alone for the night.

“Yeah.”

Gil’s voice almost made him jump. But he nodded and glanced around as he took on the meaning.

“Ain’t no one about, can probably find wood for a fire up by them rocks,” he pointed.

The turned their horses up the slope to were a few scrawny trees had grown near some weather-worn boulders.

 

After a few minutes of gathering wood and unsaddling their horses they were lounging by a small fire, bedrolls spread out on the cold earth.

 

Gil leant back on one of the boulders, and lit a cheroot. Then glanced across at Pete.

“Come here,” he said, voice low.

Pete grinned, standing and stretching before walking the few steps to stand over Gil.

“Sit.”

Gil patted the top of his own thigh. A clear indication of exactly where Pete ought to seat himself.

They were orders, but Pete knew Gil was only giving them because he’d read Pete’s own intentions loud and clear.

He adjusted himself in his pants, knowing Gil would be watching. A casual cupping of his manhood, just enough to remind Gil that he had more than a handful, and all perfectly framed by his chaps.

Gil spread his legs slightly, glowing red cheroot dangling from his mouth as he looked Pete up and down approvingly.

Pete sat, a fluid movement, a knee either side of Gil’s hips, groin snug against Gil’s own.

The thin tendril of smoke weaved between them, as Gil’s fingers tugged the hem of Pete’s shirt loose from his pants. A hand cold enough to make Pete gasp in shock slid up his stomach and over one nipple.

Gil watching his every move. His every shiver. Every moan.

Another hand, even colder, if possible, snaked in and landed on his waist, fingers curling onto his back, making him jerk toward Gil, cock trapped between them, along with too much denim. The first hand joined it, a firm grip, callouses rough on his soft skin.

It was as if Gil were in charge. But Pete, for once, had the height advantage. He bent forward, stubble on his cheek and chin dragging over Gil’s face, over lips, pressing harder than he needed to because he knew Gil liked it.

He started on the buttons of Gil’s shirt, opening them, one by one, pausing to use his own cold hands to pinch small nipples, already tight in the freezing night air.

Then he slid a hand back up to Gil’s throat, fingers splayed wide on his neck, index finger and thumb hard under the strong jaw, tipping Gil’s head back until it hit the rock that he was leaning on.

Pete took a second to just look. The long neck, vulnerable under his hand, mouth slightly open, eyes fluttering shut as the light from the fire danced over skin. Shadows and lines flickering and deepening. He thought he could feel a pulse under his fingers.

He dipped down, tongue flicking out, tracing the parted lips, because he could. Because Gil couldn’t move. Because he was Pete’s and sometimes he needed to remember that and forget about every other man and head of cattle he was responsible for.

The cool hands on Pete’s waist were warming up, and pulling down, firm on his hips, grinding them together. He bent his back, reaching down even further with his mouth, his hands sliding onto Gil’s face, still holding his head back, placing sloppy kisses over his jaw and down his neck.

Gil was groaning, trying to move, but Pete held him steady, noting that Gil’s hands didn’t move off his hips once.

Eventually he drew back, looking into glinting eyes, holding the gaze steady as his fingers tugged open Gil’s belt, roughly undid the buttons of his fly and delved inside, fingertips tracing the head of Gil’s cock.

As his fingers explored Gil’s breath would catch, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. But he never moved, or looked away.

Pete felt the tension growing, felt the flex of Gil’s thighs under his own.

Then his ears picked up something else - not Gil’s breathing, or the sound of his own pulse in his ears…but hoofbeats, approaching fast from the South.

Gil groaned, the sound wrenched from deep in his chest. Frustration clear in the tone.

Pete smoothly moved away, watching as Gil re-buttoned his fly and smoothed his hair back into place, shirt hastily done up, coat pulled back tight around him.

 

As Rowdy jumped off his horse he was grinning.

“Hey, figured the fire must be you two! We was worried somethin’ had happened, when you didn’t show.” He glanced around, from the fire to the two men. “Oh well, figure it’s too late to get back now.”

He fetched his bedroll and unfurled it in between the two of them.

 

Once they were back with the herd, if anyone noticed that Gil sent the odd longing look at Pete, or was even grumpier about losing cattle than usual, they didn’t utter a word.


	6. Together, Locked in a Sigh

The rain was relentless. But they’d kept going. Heading back to the herd, to the relative comforts of the camp, through the gloom brought on by the low, dark clouds.

Few words had been exchanged in the past hour or so, as the going became ever more treacherous. They knew the route, and speaking seemed like it would take up energy they both needed just to keep going.

Pete kept his shoulders hunched up, doing his best to stop the rain from pouring down the inside of his slicker. It was a losing battle, though.

He was pretty sure that the river would be too high to cross anyway, and had been keeping half an eye out for some shelter. He knew Gil would be doing the same.

“Say, Boss,” he finally called out.

Gil turned to look at him, the expression on his face about as miserable as Pete felt.

And it was that moment that Gil’s horse decided that the small slope it was currently negotiating was a terrible idea, and reared up, it’s hooves slipping in the mud, spinning back toward higher ground.

One second Gil was there, one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other loosely holding the reins, the next, it seemed to Pete, he’d just disappeared.

His instinct was to grab at the horse, and he managed to catch the loose reins before dropping to the ground himself, his boots sinking into the slick mud.

“Easy, easy,” he soothed, keeping a firm hold of both animals.

He could see Gil, now, sitting up, almost camouflaged by the coating of dirt up his back.

“Boss?” he called, sliding down the slope, pulling both horses after him.

Gil was pushing himself to his feet, left hand sinking deep into the mud as he did so. And Pete couldn’t help but feel slightly responsible - it had been a bad choice of places to distract him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

The answer sounded a little strained to Pete’s ears, and as Gil straightened up he was holding his shoulder.

“Was…I mean, there was a place, a ways back. Homestead, or some sorta ranch. Figure…at least we’d be out of this rain? River’ll be too high to cross, anyhow.”

Gil nodded.

Pete stood, feeling awkward, as he watched Gil take the reins of his horse back and heave himself into the saddle.

The rain was already washing some of the mud from his slicker, dull yellow streaks showing in the dark brown.

They headed back the way they had come, and Pete was at least glad that the wind was now at their backs.

 

There was a thin trickle of smoke emerging from the chimney and fighting its way through the deluge as they approached the small farm.

Off to one side of the house was a shed of some sort, and down the yard a ways was a barn.

“Goin’ to see if they’ll let us stop over?” Pete asked.

Gil gave a grunt of affirmation and they both slid from their saddles and took refuge under the verandah, Gil knocking on the door with one mud-soaked glove.

A middle-aged woman opened the door, peering out at them through the gap.

“Ma’am,” Gil removed his hat, and smiled. “My name’s Gil Favor. We’re drivin’ a herd, south of here. We got caught out, scouting the trail, can’t get back across the river to our camp. We was wondering if we could wait out the weather overnight - in your barn, maybe?”

The woman smiled, looking them up and down. “I’ll have to ask my husband, just wait here for a moment.”

There was the sound of voices, and the door opened slightly more widely. A man appeared, his shirt dirty, trousers well patched. He looked at them.

“Pushing a herd?”

“Yes, Sir.” Gil nodded, smiling again. “South of here. We can’t get back over the river to our camp.”

He looked them up and down, then nodded. “Sure you can sleep in the barn. There’s feed for your animals. Maisie will make you up coffee, if you want?”

Pete didn’t need to check if Gil was smiling now - he could hear the good cheer in Gil’s voice. “Well, Sir, we sure would appreciate that, thank you.”

“I’ve got a little bread, and some soup I can heat through as well,” Maisie smiled. “You just wait there a moment, I’ll put it on the stove.”

“Pete, why don’t you go take care of the horses,” Gil said. “I can wait.”

Pete nodded and stepped back out into the rain, his boots sliding as he led the animals towards the wooden barn.

 

It was warmer inside, although not by much. Just being out of the biting wind made a huge difference, though.

As his eyes got used to the gloom he could see a few horses standing in the stalls, and Pete put their animals into the empty spaces, unsaddling them and hanging the wet tack on the low walls, ensuring they could air out as well as possible. He hung his slicker up, too, the water still dripping from it.

There was a ladder leading up to the hay loft, and he unbuckled their bedrolls, hoping the wet hadn’t got into them too badly, grabbed their saddlebags, and climbed it.

Dry hay was stacked up everywhere, with only a few spots where the rain was dripping in, so he arranged the bushels around one area, ducking under the low roof trusses, and shook out their blankets and tarps. The edges were a little damp, but they’d both been around long enough to know that a wet bed was a miserable thing, so wrapped up their kit accordingly.

He removed his chaps and boots, still shivering slightly, and hung them up the best he could, on the low crossbeams all around him, hoping Gil wouldn’t be too long.

About ten minutes later the barn door opened, and Gil stepped inside, a cold draught accompanying him.

Pete watched as he looked around, the lines of his shoulders sagging, fatigue obviously getting the better of him.

“Plenty comfortable up here,” he called.

Gil looked up and nodded, then put down the coffee pot, small basket and unlit lamp he was carrying. He hung his slicker up by Pete’s, shaking the water from his hat and pushing his hand through wet hair.

“Here, she give us some food, coffee.” He walked down the barn to the ladder.

“Mighty kind of ‘em,” Pete answered. “Lucky we saw this place.”

Gil nodded. “I give ‘em a couple of dollars, for the feed.” He reached the bottom of the ladder and was obviously struggling with his load, so Pete hung over the edge, reaching down to grab the basket.

“Here, pass it up.”

Gil climbed the ladder with the coffee and lamp in one hand, finally kneeling on the floor, glancing at the low criss-crossing wooden beams, and reaching to put them both out of harm’s way.

“Should get out of these wet things,” Pete suggested, glancing at Gil.

“Yeah,” Gil nodded, unbuckling his chaps and hanging them up, then pulling his boots off, getting mud all over his hands.

“You’re a mess,” Pete smiled.

Gil gave a small smile back.

“Be fine once it’s dried.”

Pete nodded, and moved to hang their things up.

He rubbed his hand over Gil’s shoulder as he returned to sit down, the shirt soaked under his hand.

“You’re freezin’,” he commented. “Didn’t they let you wait indoors?”

“Lookin’ like this?” Gil gestured down to his mud-soaked pants. “I washed up some, in the trough.”

Pete gave a small shake of his head, then watched as Gil fumbled with buttons, cold fingers clumsy.

“Here,” he took over the task, quickly stripping the shirt off, and leaving Gil to struggle out of his undershirt on his own.

Then Pete shook out one of the blankets and handed it over, before taking charge of the soup so it didn’t go cold.

Gil poured out the coffee, wrapping his hands around his mug, hunched under the blanket.

Pete put the bowl of soup down in front of him, then sat, their shoulders touching, his own blanket wrapped tightly around himself.

They were both shivering.

The soup helped some, it was hot, with chunks of meat and vegetables in a thick broth. They both ate fast, then sopped up the remains with chunks of bread.

Pete moved to tidy away the dishes, stacking them neatly in the basket, and lit the small lamp, hanging it carefully on a protruding nail.

“Come on,” Pete said, gripping his blanket tightly around him. “Seeing as we don’t get a fire, need to find some other way of getting warm.”

He wasn’t sure if he imagined the slight smile that crossed Gil’s lips.

They both peeled off wet pants and long johns, shivering all the more as they could feel every draught that slid through loose planks or cracks in the timber on their naked bodies.

Pete shook his blanket out onto the tarp he’d put down, then waited for Gil to join him.

Cold skin slid against his, and they both worked to pull both the blanket and the other tarp over themselves, along with a fair covering of hay, for added warmth.

Finally they settled, facing each other, hands gently exploring, tracing, cold fingers trapped between their bodies.

Pete studied Gil’s face, and caught the moment he moved and winced slightly, then remembered how he’d been holding his shoulder after his fall.

“Roll over, let me look,” he said.

Gil didn’t protest, which told Pete a lot.

He slid tight against Gil’s back, his groin sliding against Gil’s bare buttocks, legs tangling, cold feet pressed on Gil’s calves.

“It’s nothing,” Gil said softly.

Pete ignored him, although a cursory examination seemed to back up the words.

“Land on it?” he asked, fingers tracing over bone and muscle.

“It ain’t nothing. Just jarred it some. No damage.”

Pete pressed his lips to Gil’s skin. A gentle kiss. Then another.

Gil tucked his other arm under his head, stretching out his neck, inviting Pete to continue.

He ran his hand over Gil’s waist, holding him close, fingers gently digging into the soft skin between hip and ribs.

There was a warmth spreading through him, from deep in his belly. He shifted slightly, making space for his hardening cock, as he pressed another kiss to Gil’s neck, mouth open.

Gil moved, rolling onto his back, reaching for Pete’s body, and somehow they slotted back together, Pete resting on Gil’s chest, hay falling from the tarpaulin as they moved.

Gil had a lazy smile on his face - the sort that Pete was fairly sure no one else got to see.

“Sure am gettin’ warmer,” he said, softly.

Pete grinned back. “Still think we can get even hotter,” he dipped his head to catch Gil’s mouth in another kiss.

Sometimes, he thought, it was good that Gil was a little taller. As strong hands grabbed his buttocks and anchored him in place, holding him like no woman ever had.

The rain on the roof was almost deafening as they kissed lazily, the only other sound the occasional shift or snicker of the horses below them.

Pete stroked his thumb down Gil’s jaw, then followed the movement with his lips.

Gil sighed, and gently urged Pete’s hips into a slow, smooth rocking motion.

 

It gave Pete a sense of power, that he could do this to Gil. Be responsible for the smiles, the laughter, the hardness now rubbing his hip.

When they’d first kissed, alone in a cramped shelter, too close to the enemy, yet somehow alone in the world, he hadn’t been sure he’d been doing the right thing. He hadn’t been sure the second time, or the the third. He’d never been entirely sure, for a myriad of different reasons. But he was sure he couldn’t stop, now. He was addicted. Addicted to every touch and look and taste of Gil.

Safe in the knowledge the two of them could be apart for days - weeks, sometimes, but somehow fit back together as if no time had passed. What they had seemed to go beyond any other relationship he’d had. It felt as if there were few expectations, but a huge amount of trust.

He slid his hand down Gil’s chest, down his stomach, finally reaching his groin. Pushing his hand into the warmth of where their bodies met. His fingers wrapped around the hardness, his hold gentle, soft, teasing.

Gil smiled again, tendons on his neck standing out as he reached for another kiss. Pete returned the smile, and their lips met again, tongues sliding together, tracing teeth, moving slowly, lazily.

They parted a little, breath warm and moist as more small kisses were exchanged.

Pete’s fingers traced around Gil’s balls, exploring, hand moving away to stroke over a strong thigh, then returning to continue to tease.

Gil brought the leg Pete wasn’t lying on up, knee bent, inviting further exploration.

Pete reached for his saddlebags, stretching out, smiling as Gil took the opportunity to kiss his shoulder, and gently scratch fingernails up his back.

He fumbled through his belongings until he found the tube of grease he used on his hair.

 

They didn’t talk about this part. Neither of them really had the words. They’d just learnt to read each other. To trust each other. Gentle guidance, gestures, who wanted to take or be taken, or sometimes neither.

Sometimes it was just enough to hold and be held. Safety in an unpredictable world.

He squeezed a generous amount of the slick oily cream onto his fingers, leaving the cap off the tube and dropping it back onto the flap of his saddlebag, in case he needed more.

Gil’s arms tightened around him as he reached back down, and he watched as Gil’s eyes slid closed.

He started slow, tracing a path, seeking entrance. He felt the twitch of Gil’s grip on his back as his fingertip slid inside and bent to kiss him again.

There was hay tickling him, and a chill wind still crept over his shoulders, but somehow, it was still perfect. Just the two of them, no chance of interruptions.

Gil gave a groan of encouragement as Pete pushed his finger deeper, and he could feel the pulse in Gil’s cock where his arm was pressing it against Gil’s stomach. He couldn’t help but smile. They so rarely got the time to take things slow.

“Keep on moaning like that an’ I ain’t going to be able to control myself,” he said softly, his lips tracing over Gil’s as he spoke.

One of Gil’s eyes cracked open at that, a lazy smile appearing on his face.

“Better hurry up then.” Gil’s voice was so low it was hard to hear. But Pete got the message.

He slid a second finger in along with the first, not missing the slight hitch in Gil’s breath, or the way fingers were suddenly tangled in his hair, pressing him down, a kiss crushed against his lips.

Gil groaned again, into his mouth, and he knew it was on purpose.

A few moments more and he pushed himself away, reaching for the tube of grease again. As he got to his knees he slicked his own cock, pushing the blanket off them both, the chill air like icy fingers on his skin.

All too often their coupling was a hurried fuck, somewhere near the trail, one of them leaning on a tree or rock, or on hands and knees, pants pushed down just far enough. Like a quick snack in the saddle, when what you really wanted was a proper restaurant meal in town.

So Pete took great pleasure in lifting Gil’s long legs, propping one on his shoulder, the other hooked over his elbow. Gil’s ass lifted from their makeshift bed, rolling his weight up onto his shoulders. Pete shuffled forward on his knees. Then watched Gil’s face as he pushed slowly inside the tight heat of his body.

Gil’s mouth opened, pink tongue swiping across his bottom lip. A silent gasp shown only by the movement of his ribcage and belly.

Pete looked down to where his cock was sliding into Gil’s willing body, Gil’s own erection hard on his stomach.

One of Gil’s hands curled into the blanket, bunching it in his fist, the other moved to give himself a couple of slow, sweet strokes, before blindly reaching out.

Pete let Gil’s leg down gently from his arm, then slotted his fingers into Gil’s, gripping hard, anchoring them together. He watched the play of muscles in Gil’s arm as he thrust, long and slow, his eyes following the pliant curve of his torso, the crease in the slight softness of Gil’s belly.

He felt Gil wrap the leg he’d let go of around his waist, pulling him in even tighter. The other leg followed, sliding down from his shoulder and wrapping around him easily, a heel pressing on his buttock, encouraging his movement.

“There ain’t no rush, you know,” he said, freeing his hand again and leaning forward, catching his weight on his arms. He let his eyes flicker shut as the movement pushed him even deeper inside Gil.

There was breathlessness in the moan Gil gave, almost too soft for him to hear over the gentle rustle of hay. He was determined to take his time, though.

He tried to keep control of himself, moving slowly, smoothly, long thrusts, savouring every moment. Occasionally pausing, before the sensations overtook him. Luxuriating in the opportunity.

Then he realised Gil’s eyes were open, watching him. He smiled. Gil’s lazy grin remained, and fingers traced lightly down Pete’s body, almost tickling, tracing over ribs, nipples, up to his collar bones and further, to his face.

He couldn’t respond in kind, whilst supporting himself on his arms, but ducked his head, chasing the fingers with his mouth, lowering himself down until he could feel Gil’s hardness trapped between their bellies.

Gil’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him down even further, then smoothly rolling them over.

There was a second when Pete thought his dick might slip free, until Gil settled on top of him again, toes tucked behind Pete’s thighs.

He dragged his hands down Pete’s chest, then reached up, palms flat against the underside of one of the beams above them, fingers curling around it.

Pete gave an experimental thrust, and grinned as Gil remained steady above him. Solid, unyielding.

He dug his heels into the floor a little harder, and thrust again, watching as the lamp light shone it’s warm glow over the planes of Gil’s body, the cords of muscles in his arms.

“Oh, yeah,” he breathed, as felt Gil push down at the same time, taking him deeper. 

Gil’s head dropped forward, dark commas of damp hair falling over his face.

He slid his hands up Gil’s thighs - muscular from years spent in the saddle, digging his thumbs into the soft creases where leg met torso, using his grip to get even more leverage.

Gil smiled down at him.

“There ain’t no rush, Peter,” he said, voice low, soft, full of good humour.

Pete slowed, but he could feel the heat building low in his belly. He knew that however much he wanted to, he wouldn’t last forever.

He spat into his right hand, and on the next thrust upward he slid his hand around Gil’s dick. He kept the pressure light, teasing, stroking in time with his thrusts.

The noises Gil made were almost enough to send him over the edge, but he hung onto his control, just.

Until Gil started moving, rising up, pushing down, meeting his every thrust, the pace slowly, wordlessly, increasing.

He kept his eyes open, gaze locked with Gil. His hips and hand moved in time, so Gil was caught between sinking down onto his cock or thrusting up into his fist.

There was a stutter in Gil’s movements, a jerk of muscles that weren’t following conscious orders any more, and with a groan that made one of the horses downstairs nicker, Gil was coming, stripes of white spraying across Pete’s stomach, slicking his palm and between his fingers.

He grabbed Gil’s hip even harder, pounding upward, feeling every flutter and tightening of muscles in Gil, until he was hanging onto the peak of ecstasy for a brief second, and then crashing down with waves of pleasure. He could hear his breathing, panting, his heartbeat in his ears as he thrust again and again, trying to hold on to the moment which felt like it had been such a long time coming.

One of Gil’s hands landed on his belly, skidding through the slick mess, fingers digging into his skin. He held still for a moment, breathing, before gently, smoothly, sliding in and out a few more times, enjoying the new slipperiness, wringing ever moment of bliss he could from their coupling. Wishing they could do it all over again, right now. Wishing he was still a horny sixteen year old who could manage such things.

Gil was panting above him, one hand still holding the beam, supporting himself.

Pete stroked his hands down Gil’s thighs, long soothing movements.

Gil shivered.

“C’mon,” Pete said, his voice barely working. He reached out and grabbed a handful of hay, wiping off his belly with it, before discarding it again.

They both moved, limbs heavy, uncoordinated, and ended up sandwiched between blankets, Pete leaning on one of the sturdy wooden posts, Gil sprawled between his legs.

Pete had a cup of long-cold coffee in one hand, and one of Gil’s cheroots in the other. He smoked and drank in turn, then offered each to Gil, appreciating that instead of taking the cup, Gil’s fingers would wrap around his own, guiding the mug carefully. And instead of lighting another smoke, he’d allow Pete to offer the tobacco to him.

Once he set the mug aside, and scrubbed the stub of the cheroot out on the leather of his saddlebag he wrapped his arms around Gil’s chest, holding him gently, and rested his lips in Gil’s hair.

Hands found his, wrapping around them, warming them through again.

Eventually he found himself beginning to fall asleep, so they rearranged themselves once more, Gil hugging him from behind, in their pile of bedding and sweet-smelling hay, the lamp extinguished, the barn silent apart from the steady drum of rain on the roof.

Pete smiled to himself as he felt lips press a long kiss to the back of his neck, then slept soundly until a rooster announced the dawn.

 

And if anyone noticed, when they arrived back to the herd, that they both seemed in good cheer, and relaxed - even if the Boss was shifting around a little in his saddle - they only mentioned it in hushed tones, and with a smile.


End file.
